


no sword without an edge

by Anonymous



Category: Naruto
Genre: Developing Relationship, Early Konoha, Established Relationship, F/M, Friendship, Multi, Politics, Uchiha Madara Needs a Hug, Uzumaki Mito-centric, change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29094786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Jealousy is ugly. Mito tries not to engage in it too often.
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara/Uzumaki Mito, Senju Hashirama/Uzumaki Mito, Senju Tobirama & Uzumaki Mito, Uzumaki Mito & Original Uchiha Character
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17
Collections: Five Figure Fanwork Exchange 2020





	no sword without an edge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wafflelate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wafflelate/gifts).



> A short rendition of the musical accompaniments to the writing this fic:  
> Dessa's "Parts of Speech" album, of which, the song "It's Only Me" is where I took inspiration for the title.  
> Also oddly enough: the Hamilton soundtrack.

“I know that love is never free

It bows your head and bends your knees

But there's no sword without an edge

And I sleep uneasily when you're not in my bed”

— Dessa, “It’s Only Me”

* * *

She packs for leaving Uzu with the same meticulous care she pays everything, color coded, items listed and then checked off, each item in its proper place in her sealing space, a single trunk of items she uses daily not sealed away.

That will be what she uses on the ship that will bring her to the mainland, and then further until her party reaches Konoha.

The betrothal contract had been signed with the proper formalities and ritual almost a full year ago. It will be a full year when she arrives in Konoha.

And though Senju Hashirama had made his way there in person on that momentous occasion, they had only written to each other in the year since.

By all rights, he should be here to accompany her into their new life together, but Hashirama is a busy man who cannot be spared. In his stead, he had sent his favorite cousin, a woman with an elegant updo and impeccable fashion sense named Senju Touka, who, even now, is meeting with Chichi-ue to finalize the alliance between their two clans.

She tries not to take it personally.

There will be time to learn about Hashirama, in all the ways she has not been able to in these past months.

After all, they will have the rest of their lives.

“Mito-bachan!” Her cousin’s child toddles through her doorway, a little tiger hat over his messy red curls, his hands sticky with something that looks like rice and melted sugar.

She rises and gently takes Iso-kun’s hands before they end up sticking to her kimono sleeves or worse, her loose hair. “And how is my favorite nephew today?” she asks while she herds Iso-kun over to the sink.

This prompts a smile and a giggle, some chatter about how Obaa-san had personally taken to the kitchen to make sticky rice desserts instead of leaving it to her sister-in-law.

“And did she let you taste test for her?” It can still amuse her now, even if the amusement is bittersweet.

After she is married, she will no longer live here, and slowly, she will be erased from the rhythms of her family, not out of any malice, but only because that is what happens when the person leaves — the tea grows cold.

“Uh-huh!” Hands washed and dried, Iso-kun opens his arms to be picked up. “She said come get you.”

She swings Iso-kun up onto her hip, and together, they make their way out to the kitchen.

* * *

She listens to Senju Touka-san sing with the sailors on the deck of the ship, humming along as she sits and knits, bone needles slipping past each other smoothly clicking as she joins the first round to make the collar.

It is not cold yet, with winter still a ways off, but she does believe that it is time to begin.

Begin ahead of time, before anything else has had a chance to move and shift, and adjust accordingly. This way, one is never much surprised by anything.

“What are you making?” It is Touka-san, watching her with avid curiosity, perched on top of a coil of ropes.

She is drawing yarn out of a sealed section of her trunk — the yarn is a dark but vibrant green, like the color of moss clinging to the cliff face back in Uzu, and she had chosen it because Hashirama had written that he is fond of green.

“A sweater.” It is summer, and it is hot, but she does not much mind the work.

It is repetitive and soothing, the way sealing rarely is. Sweaters also require less thought than sealing does, which is an added bonus, because she has time to look out at the sea, and the homeland she is leaving behind.

Perhaps she will line the front with little braided cables.

She will have to ask Touka-san if her cousin prefers his sweaters with full or half sleeves.

“It is hot.” Touka-san is still perched on the coil of rope a few feet away, no longer singing with the sailors. “And it won’t be cold for a long time.”

She smiles. “Best to be prepared. These things take time.” And when she is in Konoha…

There will be the wedding, of course. And then after…

She is not sure yet what will happen after, but her days will likely be busy with teaching sealing classes, managing clan affairs, and reaching out to the other clans; no doubt, there will be much to do.

The Senju have not had a matriarch since Hashirama’s mother passed away when he was a child, and while she is sure that the account books have been balanced in the years since Senju Hisano died, she is uncertain that all the other work women do has been picked up properly in the absence of the matriarch.

Oh, his other family members will have tended to it, the best that they could, but it is not the same as someone who is _meant_ to be doing those jobs.

When they are married, it will be what she is meant to do.

There will be people to meet and chores to attend to, all the stitching and mending and writing and gathering she has learned to do when she was a girl in her father’s home to see to.

Times for sweater knitting leisure will be rare and far between, and she takes the respite now as it is so that she may think things over.

“Touka-san?” she asks, still knitting. ‘Will you tell me about Senju Tobirama-san? Hashirama rarely mentioned him.”

She knows that her future husband has a younger brother, still living. Senju Butsuma-san had four sons, two of which survived to adulthood.

But she does not know much about her future brother-in-law, who had not come with Hashirama to Uzu, and who did not ever write to her. Hashirama spoke of him in glowing terms, praising his loyalty and intelligence, the kind heart that Hashirama says he bears, but she had realized rather early, Hashirama wrote of most people this way.

What Touka-san will say of her cousin might serve to be the greater measure of his character.

“He is a practical man, my littlest cousin.” Touka-san tilts her head to one side, chin resting on her hands, hair tilting with her, not a strand out of place. “Very logical and sure footed. He is not given to much emotional sentimentality and has been that way since he was a child. But he is a good man.”

_But he is a good man._

That is enough to settle the thought of Senju Tobirama for her.

Their conversation turns to lighter topics, better things — where Touka loves to buy fruit in the summertime, the progression of clans and buildings in the city, plans for a bustling center of trade and the names and livelihoods of other clan members that Touka will introduce once she is settled into her new home.

* * *

Hashirama is waiting for her at the city gates, a wide smile on his face. “Mito-chan!” He waves exuberantly, bouncing slightly on his toes as though he would be hard to miss, and offers her a hand when she’s closer. “Mito-chan, it’s so good to see you.”

She smiles, resting her hand in his, and they go in together. The city is full of people, bustling with wares and wagons, sights and sounds, and on the outskirts, there are new buildings being put up.

She will learn to like it here, she thinks, with all the trees and the excitement.

Hashirama tells her of the streets and the curiosities, brimming with pride. This city and this dream of peace is, in some ways, his child, something he’d carved out of a cruel world that had none of these things.

Good things come to those who dream.

“I am sorry I could not come to Uzu again,” he says when they are alone, sitting on the engawa, sharing the plums he’d brought out from inside. “It was rude of me.”

“You were busy.” She tries not to think of it too much.

Just one trip to the city had brought plenty to her attention.

There are many who ask for a moment of her future husband’s time and take far more than what they ask for.

And he, being kind, gives them more than what was asked for without selfishness.

No wonder he had no time to come.

“Even if I was,” he sighs and sets his hand over hers, “it still wasn’t right to ask you to travel here alone.”

“I forgive you.” There is no sword without an edge.

A blade unsharpened is just a piece of metal.

There is no relationship without give and take, and he is not a bad man by any measure.

Such things will come in time.

“I will do better.” He looks at her, earnestness in his dark eyes, and she takes it for what he says it is.

They sit together outside until it goes dark.

* * *

They are married on a beautiful sunny day in the middle of summer, with what seems like half the village in attendance.

It is a gorgeous scene — her, radiant in her wedding kimono, dressed all in white; him, beaming dressed in black and gray.

Well wishes and gifts pour in after the ceremony. She goes to get changed for the party, and Hashirama stays out in front to greet the guests.

When she steps out, now dressed in a black kimono patterned with red waves and cranes, Hashirama is in the middle of a toast, his cup raised high.

The man across from him has wild black hair, dressed in dark indigos.

“A thousand fortunes,” the other man says with a voice that rumbles like evening thunder, a long fingered hand wrapped around a wine cup. “May your happiness last ten thousand years.”

It is entirely proper, but—

She is not sure he entirely means it.

It is in the smirk on his thin lips, the odd light in his obsidian eyes—

She steps forward, a hand on Hashirama’s elbow. He jolts slightly, as if not expecting her to be there, but wraps his arm around her waist.

“Who is this, husband?” she asks, picking up a cup of her own to raise in toast. She can guess the clan from the red and white fan mon, and the dark indigo, but who he is in specific eludes her.

“Oh, Mito-chan,” he smiles, turning towards her slightly. “This is Madara.”

Uchiha Madara, then.

“A thousand greetings, Uchiha-san.” They click cups together, all three of them. “And may good fortune go with you.”

There is a slight pause before he says his next words, still entirely _proper_ but not at all right.

And if the chasm of his slightly off putting regard continues into the evening and the dancing, she tries to put it from her mind.

* * *

Afterwards, she does pick up many of the tasks she had thought of on the ship before she even set foot into Konoha.

So far, she has gathered _some_ of the in-clan children for her classes, mostly little girls between the ages of five and twelve. Her new brother-in-law, Tobirama, has the other children, mostly little boys of similar age, but neither of them have any students from other clans.

One could argue that there would be no need to see to the education of the village children, but though there are many clans in Uzu — and clanless people besides — everyone studied in the same school, shared school rooms and desks with people of different clans. It taught them of differences early.

And if there is to be peace here, then she will need to do her best to do her part and gather as many children as possible in the same classroom.

Let their education start equally, even if the real world will not let them stay equals.

But as she _is_ foreign, she needs Touka-san’s help to gather more students for her classes, which is how she ends up baking the day before and laying out tea, prepared to welcome various peers and associates.

While the men make laws and decide on missions and building projects, war and peace, alliances and betrayals, confident of their own importance, the women are the people she will have to court for her project to come to fruition.

Behind the facade of every clan led by a man live all the women who make his life go round — his mother, his daughters, sisters, wife.

And for a clan to agree to give up their children to her care for a few hours every day so she can teach them to read and write, calculate their sums, and potentially much more, she will have to win over these women.

The first to arrive is the Hatake Matriarch, mother of their current clan head, a woman more than fifty years of age, face lined and weathered by the years of her work.

Mito rises and greets her as Hatake-basan, careful to recognize and respect the generational differences between them. At her side, Touka bows her own greeting, exact and polite.

If Hisano-san had lived, they would be of the same generation.

With a quiet chuckle, Hatake-basan sits and accepts a pastry from the tray. “I’m pleasantly surprised,” she says. “I didn't think you’d want an old woman like me at your gathering of younger ladies.”

“Hatake-basan undervalues herself with that one,” Mito responds, a smile on her face. “Obasan is wise, and I have heard much about the virtue of your character.” And indeed, she _had_ heard that Hatake Renkon’s more tempered decisions were made with the counsel of his mother. “It would be remiss of me to not invite you.”

The next to arrive are a group of three women who come in together. Touka offers them a shallower bow than she had offered the Hatake Matriarch and introduces them.

“Yamanaka Masayo, wife of Inoharu-san.”

“Nara Shikari, sister of Shikataro-san.”

“Akimichi Sakae, wife of Chokichi-san.”

The women most closely related to the leaders of the Yamanaka-Nara-Akimichi alliance, then. She rises and bows to each of them, and the plate of osmanthus pastry is passed around again.

Gently, she asks after their children, paying attention to the responses, and feeds the chatter with discussion of village news and household matters.

Midway through, Hyuuga Hisoka joins them, laughing as she explains how her younger brother had been too distracted by his calligraphy and had left his tea to grow cold, and how she had been detained by brewing him another.

Her own household is small enough that her contributions to the conversation soon turns to her efforts in setting up her classroom, and the small success she has had therein.

“You’ll teach the orphan children?” Hyuuga Hisoka leans forward, interest in her eyes. “Why?”

She hides a laugh behind her folding fan — a pretty thing painted with golden chrysanthemums — “Maybe it’s just my lack of understanding of this country.” She peers at her audience over the edge of her fan, leveraging her relative youth and open expression to play at being naive. “In Uzu, all the children are educated together in one school. I shared a schoolroom with everyone.”

“Really?” Nara Shikari taps her folded fan against her wrist, hiding her interest, but not enough that she doesn’t say anything. “You’ll teach anyone who comes to your classes?”

“Oh, anyone.” Mito would’ve elaborated, but another young woman stands at the door, much younger than any of them, perhaps only seventeen or so, a small boy’s hand in hers.

“My apologies, I seem to have arrived at a bad time.” She looks fairly nondescript, but she is _also_ wearing indigo, and so is the young boy with her.

_Uchiha?_

It is so late, and she hadn’t expected the Uchiha to send a representative to test the grounds with her, much less someone so young.

“Come join us,” she rises, with the plate of pastry. “You’re not late at all.” Leaning down slightly, she offers the last pastry to the little boy. “And who might you be, young man?”

“Uchiha Kagami!” He holds up four fingers. “I’m four!”

“A great age, indeed.”

In the distraction, Touka rises and fetches another two chairs so that their newest guests can sit down.

“Misao, so good of you to join us,” Yamanaka Masayo glances over at the young Uchiha woman who had just seated herself. “We were just talking about the new schoolroom Mito has been opening. Maybe your clan has children who might find it useful.”

Misao stiffens.

Mito doesn’t know exactly what has happened under the surface, just aware that some insult has taken place, but as the hostess, it is her duty to correct it. “Oh,” she says, tone purposefully light. “I think everyone can benefit from learning from each other.”

The tension eases.

Touka rises to fetch more heated water for tea, and the conversation turns around again, this time to her husband’s best friend.

Uchiha Madara, his gift from the divine.

“Senju-san loves him better than a brother.” Hyuuga Hisoka glances at her, something like pity in the lavender of her eyes. “Why, before Senju-san was married, they went out to eat three nights a week.”

And yet, Hashirama is a busy man, who only ate dinner at home three nights of the working week, coming home often after the lanterns were already lit.

And yet, she is not supposed to let this affect her. “I assume that running a village is busy work. As Uchiha-san is my husband’s partner in such matters, I’m sure they have much to talk about.”

The other women glance among themselves at this, all except Misao, who is staring at _her,_ fervently.

She doesn’t know what that’s about, either.

* * *

She starts the cleanup process when the party ends and everyone disperses.

“Uzumaki-san?” It is Uchiha Misao, holding Kagami-kun’s hand. “Do you have a moment?”

She waves Touka, who glances at her from around three or four chairs stacked atop each other, on ahead. “Of course. What did you need?”

“When they mentioned your schoolroom...” Misao pauses, her grip on Kagami’s hand white knuckled, though the little boy doesn’t complain. “Were they serious? You’ll teach anyone who comes?”

“I’m very serious.” She’d known that the clans of Fire Country don’t do such things, but she hadn’t realized it would be such a curiosity. “In Uzu, the teacher taught anyone who wanted to come.”

“So that is what it is.” Misao nods to herself. “And you don’t mind what they said about Madara-sama?”

She has only met Uchiha Madara once, at her wedding.

For the most part, he does not call upon the house. And while she is curious about him, she doesn’t believe there is any reason to pry.

He will call upon the house if he wishes to, and if Hashirama will let him.

“Is there something _to_ mind?” _Better than a brother._

But better than a brother can mean many things, and since Touka has not said anything about Hashirama’s heart when it comes to Uchiha Madara, she ought not trust someone else’s gossip.

“No.” Misao responds too quickly to _not_ be hiding something, but that’s alright. “No, of course there’s nothing to mind, Uzumaki-san.”

She’ll learn what the younger woman is hiding with time.

No need to push too hard.

Their days are long, and her days here will be long enough to plumb these hidden depths.

“Just so,” she smiles. “I’ll see you to the door, but forgive me for not walking with you further. My husband will be home soon.”

* * *

Though she had told herself that she will not pry regarding the nature of her husband’s relationship with Uchiha Madara, she still wonders, especially when Hashirama comes home late again that night, his footsteps on the walkway outside.

“I’m home!” He smiles when she sets aside her account book of figures.

“Have you eaten?” She had kept food warmed for him in case he has not, though normally, if he returns this late, he has already eaten.

 _Likely with Uchiha Madara._ Quickly, she banishes the thought. Jealousy is ugly, and she tries not to indulge in it terribly often.

“I haven’t yet,” his smile is a touch rueful around the edges, “though I suppose it is far too late to eat dinner with you?”

“It’s no trouble.” She sets the accounts aside. “I’ll go tell the kitchen you’re home.”

“Touka tells me that you held a party.” He slips his haori off and sets it on the rack. “Was it fun?”

She rises brush in hand to brush the dust from the garment. “Did Touka tell you what it was for?”

“She did not, but given who you invited and what they talked about all afternoon, I have some guesses.” He takes her hand and presses a kiss to the back of her knuckles. “I am a lucky man, to have so astute and devoted a wife as you.”

“And I am lucky,” she does not blush, but it is a warm feeling, all the same, “to have a husband both fair and generous of heart.”

He laughs at this, bright and brilliant, and they sit down to dinner together.

“We have yet to hear back from the Daimyo, regarding my request that the Uchiha and the Senju are recognized as joint leaders of the village,” Hashirama comments. “It has been some months since we have heard from the capital, and that does worry me.”

She pauses to consider it and sets her chopsticks down. “I believe that the Daimyo is hedging his bets.”

“How so?”

“If he says nothing to you, he may watch what plays out here from above and afar, without saying that he supports one or the other.” It is what her father does when his nobles are squabbling over some choice political capital or other. “And if there is division and heartache here, especially between the Uchiha and the Senju over any sort of grievance, he may keep his hands in his sleeves and stand by without having suffered any losses.”

“He must have a hard heart for him to think of such a thing as just.” Hashirama sighs, setting aside his bowl and chopsticks as well. “There was so much war and death before the treaty was signed and the village was built. He has a hard heart indeed, if he will sentence more children to death by the sword by refusing to signal approval or disapproval of my venture.”

“Men who rule often have no heart.” She does not mean this in an unkind way. “Ruling strips it all away.”

It is only the truth.

Among her father’s nobles, she can think of few who have proper hearts made of flesh rather than bone.

Her father carried himself differently as king than as a father or a husband. And so too, she assumes that of Hashirama, that he carries himself differently when not with her, and when he has to lead.

“The cruelest of ironies,” he mutters, more to himself than to her. “For someone to have so much power to do good and do nothing with it but keep it in a case for show. What is a sheathed sword but an edgeless boast?”

“There is a way,” she says, pondering the benefits and what they might barter for the Daimyo to grant legitimacy to their venture, “to perhaps persuade him to change his mind.”

And she also wonders when she started considering this village _their_ venture, jointly, instead of only her husband’s dream.

But they do say that husband and wife are one flesh and one heart.

Only then is a household harmonious.

And if they are one flesh and one heart, what he holds dear and what he loves are also what she holds dear and what she loves.

It is to be their dream then.

“But,” she has to give caution to this plan as well, for his face had turned so hopeful at her tentative suggestion, “that will depend on how well you might persuade the Uchiha to also agree to this venture.”

That sets him thinking again.

“Madara does not believe that joint rule will work,” he says, slowly starting to eat again. “I am afraid that Tobira agrees with him on this, even though they will agree on nothing else.” He laughs here, self deprecatingly. “And even if I had seven tongues, I do not believe I will be able to talk them into agreement.”

“You do not need seven tongues.” She rather thinks the one he possesses is smart enough already. “Uchiha Misao came to my party today. How much sway do you think she has over Uchiha-san?”

“Misao-chan?” Hashirama taps his fingers against the base of his bowl. “She is Madara’s little cousin.”

Ah, so that was how they are related. A cousin _is_ a bit further related than she had assumed, given Uchiha Misao’s age and yet her relative steeliness. “Is Uchiha-san married? Or does he have a mother or sister?”

Hashirama shakes his head. “No, Misao-chan is his closest living kin. Eldest daughter of his second paternal uncle. She has a younger brother named Kagami.”

And that solved the question of how Kagami-kun fit into the puzzle.

“If he does not have closer kin than the two who came to my party,” she considers this again, setting aside the thought that Hashirama would rather share power, _and_ whatever it was that Hyuuga Hisoka had wanted her to know about their relationship, “then I think the Uchiha may be amenable to persuasion.”

_If I am the one who is doing the persuading, and if the one being persuaded is not Uchiha-san directly, perhaps they will be more amenable._

Either way, she suspects she will see much more of Uchiha Misao.

* * *

When she opens the schoolroom the next week, there’s a crowd of new students, most dressed neatly but not finely. Several look as though they would rather not be here. But all of them are part of the Yamanaka-Nara-Akimichi alliance, or related to the clans.

So that was what Nara Shikari had been hinting at.

_She thinks she will upset me by not sending any of the more important clan children. She expects this to insult me, or otherwise, she is testing me on whether or not I actually believe that I said._

But in this, if Shikari had hoped to cause a stir, she has calculated incorrectly.

If she’d only paid pretty lip service to the idea of equality, then this would insult her, but it does not.

“Come in!” She steps back and waves at the tables and chairs. “There’s plenty of space.”

If this continues she will need more space, not less, but that is a change for a later time.

She will likely need more teachers as well, but that, again, a change for a later time.

The children, several seemingly nonplussed, follow after her, a little crowd instead of a line.

She introduces them as a collective to her Senju students, and then she asks for volunteers to do more personal introductions around the room.

And slowly, she savors her victory. The first battle has gone to her, for at least _some_ of the clans have had a taste of curiosity and _acted_ upon their curiosity.

The smallest of sand grains are used to carve jade.

The greatest of systems are built brick by brick.

* * *

“We need to talk.” At the end of the school day, Tobirama appears behind her on the walkway, his arms full of scrolls. He’s not the slightest bit out of breath, even though she is walking at quite a pace.

While she _is_ very fond of Touka and more than fond of Hashirama, she and Tobirama had not started out on the right foot — the wedding had happened, and she had made a joke meant lightheartedly that he’d taken quite to heart in a way that she had not intended, and even now, some months later, she still hasn’t quite mended fences.

Regarding her schoolroom, she doesn’t really want to discuss it. None of the new students had gone to _his_ schoolroom after all.

The new children are _her_ responsibility.

“What do we have to talk about?” She keeps her voice light.

“More than ten new out of clan children appeared at the gates of the compound today,” he says, easily keeping pace with her even still, despite the brutal pace she is setting and the precarious nature of the stack of scrolls in his arms. “They said they were here for school.”

“They _were_ here for school.” There’d been a few little boys in her class today — none of the new children were older than ten — and everyone had been much excited about that.

If her brother-in-law wishes to steal them for her class, he will have to fight her for them, for they are quite sweet and she will defend her right to continue teaching them.

“Touka let them in.” He glances at her again, red eyes mildly confused.

“I told her to.” She slows down. No use in trying to outrun the inevitable.

“Why were they here?” He steps out in front of her. “You do know that the Alliance sent them here because they don’t want to spend the effort to educate them themselves?”

 _It is the most foolhardy thing you are doing,_ his eyes seem to say. _Wasting all that effort for no reason._

“I have great faith that more people will send more children now that they see that the door is not closed to orphans and outsiders.” She meets his gaze evenly. “And I will welcome them all, should they care to come.”

“You don’t have the energy to teach them all.” _Investing all that time into other people’s children._ He frowns, lines carved deep about his mouth. “Are you sure that’s a wise decision?”

She smiles. “In time, they will send their instructors, and people to help me teach.”

No shinobi clan could resist the lure of trying to learn new techniques that they have not seen before, and sealing is very much kept exclusively to the Uzumaki and the Senju.

But all she has taught the children so far are how to read and write, calculate their sums and reason answers to their problems.

An exchange for an exchange. They may not understand the game she is playing, but that does not mean they aren’t playing that game, even so.

She believes in equality, but no equality is free.

“They’ll just send you instructors and people to help you teach children that aren’t even all from their own clans.” He sounds… incredulous. “From the goodness of their own hearts.”

But he will not be the first person to doubt her.

Touka does as well, but Touka has consented to helping her achieve the task regardless.

“They will send people eventually. I cannot tell if it will be because they have goodness in their hearts.”

“Forgive me if I cannot believe that,” he mutters. “The whole thought is madness.”

“I can.” She keeps her smile, head held high. “We’ll keep walking, brother-in-law, and we’ll see whose ideas are more unlikely, hmm?”

She sweeps past him and into her room. She still has half an hour of daylight left. There are garments to mend and a sweater to knit.

She is already down past the shoulders, stitches separated out for the sleeves.

There is still much work to do, but to say she isn’t proud of her progress would be a lie.

* * *

The next time she has a free day, she invites Uchiha Misao to tea.

The young woman arrives with Kagami-kun in tow again, and it is only then that the pieces click together.

_Hashirama had said they were Uchiha-san’s closest living relatives._

_She likely doesn’t have anyone who could possibly watch Kagami-kun for her at home._

But instead of deciding not to come, Misao has decided to bring her baby brother with her, to the compound of a clan that has caused her grief.

That is promising.

And she does think that the little boy is sweet and well mannered.

If she and Hashirama were to have a son…

She would like to tell him to emulate Uchiha Kagami.

“I hope you don’t mind.” Misao bows once stiffly to her. “I promise that Kagami-kun is very well behaved.”

She bows back. “He was perfectly behaved last time. I see no reason why he can’t join us.”

She does not keep too many sweets in the house, but she finds the little packet of milk and sesame candies that she’d bought the last time when she visited the marketplace and offers them to Kagami-kun who smiles at her, shy and eagerly delighted, though he picks only one candy from the packet.

“You invited me, but not Hyuuga Hisoka.” Misao blows lightly on her tea, watching her from over the rim. “Should I assume that is because I have more to offer you?”

How astute.

And yet, how bleak.

“I don’t only try to make friends with people who have something to give me.” And yet, nothing in the world comes freely. Only when something is given can something else be gained.

Not all exchanges are equal ones, but that is the way of the world.

“It is something you want from Madara-sama, isn’t it?” Misao is still watching her from across the table. “I have to tell you now, if that is what you want from me, you will find no purchase. He does not listen to me.”

And _yet,_ she cannot quite believe that.

“I don’t want to be your friend because I think that you’ll be able to help me persuade Uchiha-san of anything.” She continues knitting, needles clicking, still pulling yarn from one of her storage seals.

It’s so much neater that way, partitioned out, in a way that human relationships never can be.

They are all tangled together, in their relationships, and cannot live without that tangle.

“Of course, since I have no way of speaking to Uchiha-san directly, I would be thrilled if you would talk to him for me,” she smiles, more in rue than joy, “but that is not why I want to be friends with you.”

“You could have your pick of better connected women to be friends with.” Misao takes a sip of her tea. “Why choose me, when I am young, distantly and tenuously connected to power, and attached to a child who I will not part with, not even to spend time with you?”

“You’re truthful.” And truth is such a rare thing among them in the shinobi world they all must make a living in. “Truth is rare.” And a clear sighted woman willing to be truthful is even more rare.

“I suppose that is a better thing to be valued for.” Misao sighs, setting her teacup down. “I shouldn’t be here, in truth.”

“Oh?” _And who has told you that you shouldn’t be here?_

“My cousin is a selective man. And since he will not ever forgive Senju Tobirama for his hand in his brother’s death, he will be ill pleased to learn that I have visited the Senju for any reason.”

“And yet he associates with my husband easily enough.” And public enough for the whole village to know about it.

Misao smiles thinly. “He bears Senju-san a great love. For that, he will make an exception.”

“And yet you are here.” Misao has not bothered to hide that she has chosen to visit from her cousin. Or if she had tried, she has not tried very hard.

Misao’s smile turns thinner. “For the woman who makes her schoolroom open to children others would call beggars, I will make an exception.”

* * *

The day after, Uchiha Kagami-kun arrives at her door in the morning, standing there, younger than all the other children, but there.

Misao has made her choice then. All it took was Mito telling the truth.

Another victory, for all of the children in the Uchiha clan, only little Kagami-kun is Uchiha Madara-san’s personal responsibility.

Misao’s close family is small.

Of a once large and sprawling family tree, on their branch, only she, her little brother, and her older cousin remain.

War takes, and takes, and takes, and neither Misao nor Uchiha-san are trusting people by nature.

This too, is a sacred form of trust.

“Come in,” she says, stepping aside. “There’s a chair here for you, though you’ll have to share your desk with someone else.”

If any more children show up, she will have to find more desks.

* * *

In the afternoon, there is a man leaning against the gate when she walks the children out of the compound.

Uchiha Madara.

The gate guard is eyeing him warily, but Uchiha-san does not seem to be paying him any attention. Instead, his eyes pass lazily over the gaggle of dispersing children and pauses for a moment on herself before continuing on and finding Kagami-kun.

“Madara-nii!” The little boy hurries forward, all smiles and eager anticipation. “Madara-nii, did you know that kanji’s got pictures in it?”

“Senju-san’s been treating you like all the other students then?” He leans down and picks Kagami-kun up, balancing the child on one hip as though he is used to such. He glances at her again, something darker on his face, and his eyes flicker red for just a moment.

_The Sharingan._

Like pinwheels in the wind.

“Uh-huh.” Kagami-kun nods, having not noticed the glance. “Senju-san’s nice.”

“Uchiha-san,” she steps forward, suddenly aware that while he is shorter than her husband, he is still a fair ways taller than her. “Everyone is equal in my classroom.”

He makes a face, not necessarily at her. “You’ve been talking to Misao. Equality is all she will talk about.”

“It is not a fool’s dream.” She holds his gaze, unblinking, unafraid. “If the only dreamers were fools who could accomplish nothing, then we would not be standing here in our roles as we are, would we?”

If the only dreamers were fools, she still would’ve married Hashirama, but in a warzone where the Uchiha and the Senju are still locked in bitter, deadly conflict.

If the only dreamers were fools, even after the Uchiha and the Senju made peace, no other clans would’ve joined them in this village, but more new people move in every day.

“Yet, maybe all dreamers are fools.” He still has an appraising look in his eye, as if weighing her, and weighing her again in all her dimensions. “For only fools work towards impossible goals.”

“Then I will proudly be a fool.” She compromises on so much on the day to day, careful to limit her choices to things that others will find palatable if only because that is what it means to live in harmony with others. “For when my dreams are realized, it will not be foolish.”

But there are some items that cannot be compromised on, some where she is unwilling to even take one step back.

This is one of them.

Like the slow wear of the river on the cliff face, change might have to come slowly, but it will have to come.

He laughs, a biting thing, sharp and edged with teeth, but Kagami-kun shows up at her door the day after and the day after that, and he does not stop coming.

* * *

The week after Kagami-kun comes to class and keeps coming, two Hyuuga children show up at her door in the morning, one branch, the other not. “Hisoka-sama says to apologize properly for not greeting you properly before, Uzumaki-sensei.” The branch child — the older of the two — bows once. “We brought our own brush, ink, and paper.”

One side branch child and one main branch child, the branch child meant to watch out for and protect the main branch child should anything happen.

The Hyuuga are testing the waters, just as the InoShikaCho are.

“No need to apologize.” She steps aside to let them in. “We were just about to begin. I’ll see where you both are in terms of kanji recognition, and then I’ll be able to assign you to an exercise set. For now, why don’t you introduce yourselves to the class?”

Likely, they are here because Kagami-kun has been coming.

Misao had mentioned that the Hyuuga still hope to overtake the Uchiha in might and power, and she’s sure that their natural rivalry cannot hope to resist the lure of knowledge.

Most shinobi can’t.

She is a sealing master, and her country is revered for that power.

She knows well the implicit expectations her offer had sparked when she said that all were welcome in her school room.

But she is shinobi, one who wagers and wins. Not all battles are fought in lands far away and won with blades.

This will not be a battle she loses.

* * *

“My most honored cousin has decided he does not need me to go with him on his capital trip to speak with the daimyo.” Misao is sitting with her on the engawa, Kagami-kun asleep in her lap.

She is knitting. “And so too, my husband has assured me he does not need me to go with him on that very same trip.”

_But you know that, since you are here._

“Men.” Misao mutters, gently winding more green yarn into a ball for her when the current one runs out. “What does my cousin know about subtlety? He still hasn’t realized that his distraction over Senju-san and yourself has somehow pulled him further away from his grief.”

“Distraction?” She has not spoken to Madara since their conversation at the gate on the first day that Kagami had come to school, and it has been some months since then, but his eyes had lingered on her in public, always with that uncomfortable weight.

She’d thought it was because she had offended him with her talk about dreams, and he is still trying to weigh her habits and figure out a fitting retribution suitably annoying enough that she won’t bother trying to convince him of the validity of dreams again.

“You wouldn’t believe,” Misao pauses, green yarn dangling from her fingertips, “how absolutely _upset_ and jealous he was to hear that Senju-san was getting married, and that the betrothal contracts had been signed and sealed before peace even happened.”

“Jealous?”

He had sounded _disgruntled,_ at the wedding reception, but really, she had not read it as jealousy.

Then, Misao knew him better.

Misao laughs. “Oh, he would not call it jealousy, no. And he still doesn’t, but—” The younger woman’s eyes _gleam,_ wickedly amused. “How else do you explain the huffy mood he gets into whenever someone mentions you and Senju-san in the same breath?”

How interesting.

“Perhaps he is still upset by items that occurred before the war.” She has heard more of the strain and trouble that had occurred in the Uchiha clan because of the war.

They had lost plenty of people because of it. Perhaps he is still trying to reconcile the friendship with husband with the loss of so many others.

“The week after you were married, he detained Senju-san four nights out of seven for long hours at a time on the pretext of business.” Misao pats her hand, almost commiseratingly. “My cousin hates paperwork and hates business more.”

“Would he prefer to be married to Hashirama?” She stops knitting, the half finished sweater in her lap. If it were that…

She would have to accept that he will always be looking for suitably annoying retribution towards her and leave it at that.

“In the beginning, maybe.” Misao sighs, blowing a lock of her hair out of her face. “Nowadays, I suspect he can’t decide if he is jealous of Senju-san for being married to you or of you for being married to Senju-san.”

“That’s a different proposition.” She picks up her sweater again. “I think it’s time to talk to my husband about how I’ve found the solution to his problem.”

“Oh?” Misao raises a brow at her. “I don’t know how you will turn my cousin towards unity, Mito.”

Peace treaties can be built in several different ways.

Alliances are carefully cultivated things, rarely like the assumption of good faith as it stands between the Uchiha and the Senju thus far.

“I’ll make two sweaters.” A corner of her mouth tilts up as she turns to Misao. “Say, how long will it take for something to explode if your cousin moves into this house?”

“No, don’t!” Misao punches her shoulder, laughing. “That’s too horrible to think of.”

* * *

The trip to the capital brings the barest thread of legitimacy to the village where shinobi clans have gathered in the southern central portion of Fire Country, but it comes no closer to solving the leadership crisis.

The discussion comes up in the first dinner after Hashirama arrives home.

Tobirama throws up his hands and calls the whole joint leadership idea a bad job. “Why not just ask for a vote? Whoever gets more can lead us all.”

Hashirama shoots him a disappointed look. “Leadership isn’t a popularity contest, Tobira. If it was, our father would never have been clan head.”

Dinner…simmers, after that.

Tobirama leaps to his feet as soon as he is done eating and practically hurtles out of the room.

“Tobira—” Hashirama reaches after him, chair clattering, but doesn’t manage to be fast enough. He slumps, dejected.

Slowly, she rises from her chair and loops her arms around his waist, leaning her head against the spot between his shoulder blades. “Husband,” she sighs. “I have an idea, if you want to hear it.”

“Oh?” He sets a hand over hers, slightly less dejected now. “Mito-love, why wouldn’t I want to hear it?”

“It’s delicate.” She unwinds herself from him, walking so that she can see his face. “Tell me husband, truthfully, how much do you love Uchiha Madara?”

Misao’s words ring in her ears. _He bears Senju-san a great love._ And perhaps this is how it all goes forward, if only interpersonal troubles could be solved as easily as tangled yarn.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Hashirama attempts to smooth all the expression from his face, but he is unpracticed and it shows.

His fear shows.

“I did not think we had any troubles.”

“We don’t.” She winds a lock of his loose hair about her finger and smiles. She hopes it’s comforting, but it does not seem to help. “Hyuuga Hisoka told me that you love him better than a brother. I just wanted to know if it is true.”

“No matter what you have heard from the Hyuuga, I have never been unfaithful.” There is a harder set to his pressed tight lips, but that is not what she wanted either. “And you may always be assured of it.”

She sighs and stands on her tiptoes to cup his face. “Husband, I don’t doubt you.”

“Then what are you asking me about?” Now that she’s reassured him, all he manages is a tiny bit of woeful confusion.

“Think, for a moment.” Laughingly, she bounces upwards and presses a quick kiss to the tip of his nose. “How are alliances often cemented? If you must think of it, how was the alliance between the Uzumaki and the Senju cemented?”

“By marriage.” He thinks about this, trying to weigh what she means. “But there _aren’t_ any proper marriage options, there is _no way_ Madara would be alright with matching Misao-chan to Tobirama and there is _no way_ I would get either side of that hypothetical betrothal contract to even attempt a harmonious relationship.”

“No no, this isn’t about Tobirama or Misao.” She tilts his face down so that they are eye to eye. “I want you to invite Uchiha Madara to dinner with _us._ ”

His face goes through several iterations wavering between hope and despair. “Absolutely not,” he declares.

“You’re afraid of me knowing him,” she realizes.

“I am _not_ ,” he insists, but she doesn’t believe him.

“If you are not afraid of me knowing him, then invite him to dinner. You love him more than a brother, or that is what they say on the street.” She raises her chin, more frustrated than defiant. “I do not intend to suspect you of anything, husband, but if you must hide him away from me like some sort of secret, I think I really will begin to wonder.”

Hashirama looks abashed. “I have to warn you, he’s really very _rude._ ”

She almost laughs. Rude as Madara may have been, but he is far from the worst they could’ve chosen.

“I know Tobirama.” She raises an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “Are you sure he could possibly be ruder?”

Hashirama opens his mouth to protest and then closes it, and then opens it again. “Not in the same way.”

“Don’t you want unity? I think this idea works.”

“It’s not just dinner, is it?”

“No, but I need you to make sure he comes to dinner.”

For a moment, it looks as though he will refuse again, wavering between wants and morals.

Normally, morals would win.

But he concedes.

Uchiha Madara, however he is going to get here, is coming to dinner.

* * *

“Are we late for class?” A drawl cuts through her concentration where she is bent over Kagami’s desk answering a question that he had regarding the kanji for ‘autumn.’

Nara Shikari stands in her doorway, a small group of other children behind her in a neat row.

“Class started half an hour ago, but you are more than welcome to join us.”

“Surely all of the children here aren’t all caught up with each other.” Shikari comes to stand beside her. “How do you prefer to run your classroom?”

“After I assess their skill level, I assign them to an exercise. If there are questions, I answer them.” She makes sure that Kagami is alright now, his questions answered, and moves towards the next student with their hand up. “No child is ever the same, and by that example, no two exercises in this room are the same.”

If she spends more time than she properly _should_ on her students and what she hopes to teach them, then that is her own affair.

As long as her other tasks are still accomplished and done well, she is allowed this singular dream, this bit of self indulgence.

“I am aware of where my students are.” Shikari considers it. “But I would like to see how you do things, and I would like to offer my aid, if you would have me. So many students can’t be easy on you.”

It might still be a double edged weapon, but she files that thought away and accepts the offer at face value.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, and this _is_ what she told Tobirama would happen all those months ago when the first InoShikaCho children had come to her.

“I would appreciate the help.” She smiles. “And I would appreciate knowing you as well.”

She is greeted with an answering smile.

* * *

“Nara Shikari showed up today.” Tobirama stands there, in front of her door and blocks the way in.

She wishes that there’s some way to tell him that he does not have to corner her to come talk. “She did.” But in the absence of being able to tell him such in a way that he would believe, she settles for answering his question. “And she’ll be coming back for the foreseeable future.”

“What did she want?” He seems more confused than anything else, less hostile than he’d been right after she’d joked badly at him.

“To help me teach.” _And maybe learn Senju clan secrets, but we’re shinobi, what else should I expect?_ “And probably to learn more about us, but that is a trade I am willing to make.”

“Your sealing knowledge is something you are willing to teach to the Nara who will then propagate it among the clans of the InoShikaCho alliance?” He frowns, but frowning is normal. What isn’t normal is the contemplative look in his eyes.

“I was taught by an out of clan sensei.” In Uzu, in the classroom at least, all children are equal.

Outside of the classroom, she was a princess and treated as such. “It seems only fair that I teach others, no?”

Knowledge is a dangerous thing, in the wrong hands.

Knowledge holds great power.

But to be one village, united, education should not be kept from others.

He still hasn’t gotten it, frown carving itself deeper on his face.

She tries a different approach. “You would teach your skills to the next generation in-clan freely and without complaint, wouldn’t you?” She knows that he is proud of his students, and that he has an aptitude for teaching, more patient with children than he is with other adults.

“Well, of course I would.” He runs a hand through his hair. “They’re the future of the clan.”

“And the other children I have in my classroom are the future of the village. The children of this clan will depend on their out of clan brothers and sisters to watch their backs out in the field, will depend on their peers and their neighbors. The future is collective, Tobirama-san. We cannot hold onto clan loyalties as we move forward. The value of home is bigger now.”

The value of her home and the world she builds for her children will include more allies.

No resentment can be allowed to fester here, in inequality and lack of access to an equal education.

“I—” something has clicked then, for him “—see.”

And for the first time, her brother-in-law bows to her. “Thank you for explaining, Mito-san.”

“Mito-nee.” She corrects his address of her almost by instinct.

“I have much to think about.” The tiny corners of his mouth loosen, though it could not be called a smile. _Give it time._ “Then I am Tobira-kun.”

And change is in the air.

* * *

There’s two sets of footsteps on the walkway, one that she recognizes as Hashirama, and the other she assumes to be Madara.

And this time, it is still light out.

If this scheme works out to her benefit as well, well, it would only be what she intends.

“I’m home!” Hashirama calls when he crosses the doorway.

Madara follows after, silent as he slips off his shoes to come inside.

By the tense line of his shoulders, he does not feel at home here.

“Welcome home.” She bounces forward, presses a kiss to Hashirama’s cheek, leaving a vibrant red smudge of her lip paint behind.

Behind Hashirama, Madara freezes, as if trying to figure out if he should look away from the display of affection.

She almost laughs, but laughing would give the game away now, so she reins it in with self control that impresses even herself.

“I thought you had him, husband,” she raises one brow, still blithely smiling at the man before her, who looks as though he’d been poleaxed; before her, Hashirama tries and fails to smother a laugh, “well in hand?”

Madara splutters, which delights her more than she thought it would when she first thought of it.

“What,” he manages after attempting to recover himself, and not being able to, “are you trying to insinuate?”

“Hmmm?” She peers at him from over Hashirama’s shoulder, standing on her tiptoes while holding Hashirama by the elbows. “What did you think I was trying to insinuate, Madara-san?”

He flushes a dull scarlet.

Her smile widens to a wicked grin— “You might be right,” — and an outright laugh at the next expression he manages. “In any case, I am ever so glad that we could have you for dinner.”

“Mito-love,” Hashirama kisses her forehead, “maybe we should have mercy on him.”

She pretends to consider it. “No, never.”

“You _said_ ,” Madara’s tone takes on a slightly accusatory tone, “that your wife wanted to meet me.”

“Oh, his wife does.” It is, perhaps, too silly of her to continue, but he has made himself so easy to tease. “I have heard so much about you, as I am sure you have heard about me.” The village rumor mill grinds every word and action to grist. Let them grind this then, for she would like to see what they make of it. “I would like to know you.”

“In what way?” His tone is wary, but it does not seem as though she and Hashirama have sent him fleeing for the door yet.

“In all ways.” This seems to set off his panic button again, so she amends herself. “Of course, only the ones you consent to.”

“I need a moment.” His response is faint.

That concession won, she retreats to the politely mannered hostess she should’ve been all along.

* * *

His moment takes as long as a week, for he throws open the door of her study early one morning, long before she will have to go to the classroom, but after Hashirama has left to survey the fields and rice paddies before going to the Tower, and strides in.

“There aren’t that many women who would do this.”

“And what is ‘this’ that you speak of?” She raises her gaze to him from her current seal work. “Sit down, Madara. I don’t fancy getting a crick in my neck.”

He sits, though unwillingly. “Misao told you that I—” and here he stumbles over his words “have love for—” again, another stumble, and he seems to give up on actually saying the words, and settles for attempting to look at her imposingly.

It doesn’t work.

She slaps a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. “You really are worried. Why?”

“You love him.”

Ah, so he can speak of emotions, just not his own. Well, that does simplify things a little.

“Love says that I want him to be happy.” She props her head up one hand. “And if this is how his dreams will be realized, why _not._ ” He is no terrible monster, nor a competitor for her affections.

Jealousy is ugly, and she prefers a different path when she can take it.

He blinks at her. “You think it’s a good idea that I move in and stay forever.”

“If you don’t mind, I would like to love you.” There, she’s said it as plainly as she is able to.

He laughs, but it’s more like a weak exhale of air. “If I don’t mind.”

“Do you?”

She has the yarn for a second sweater all wound up, and the pattern almost decided, but that means nothing if he would prefer that she keep her distance. In the end, love is a road one travels twice, once leaving, once returning.

Affection ought to be mutual.

“You are an impossibly optimistic woman.” He shakes his head as though it has attracted cobwebs. “What makes you think that you could?” _love me,_ he does not add, because of course, he is allergic to those two words together in a sentence. Maybe one day, with enough time, he won't be.

“Is there some reason why you think I can’t?” She has been met with the word impossible before, from him even, but that was for other, more easily predicted matters.

The heart cannot be predicted like a tangled skein of yarn. Words said in haste cannot be lifted from the heart like ink dropped from a hastily dipped brush.

“You don’t dislike me?” His tone takes on a note of disbelief. “By all rights, you should be angry that I lo...ve.”

Ah, this time he has finished his statement. Or at least the word love when it refers to himself.

“Jealousy is ugly.” She has reminded herself of this many times, but perhaps this time she says it to remind both herself and the man before her. “Why drink vinegar when I could find a better solution?”

When the person leaves, the tea grows cold.

She will never be able to return to being a girl in her father’s house. Time cannot turn backwards.

Since the situation is the way it is, she might as well move forward and take what she can take with her.

“He loves you too, Madara. It is in the height of his regard for you.” She’d known it in the way he’d written, in the way he had spoken, in the way he had looked.

But she is not insecure about her place in Hashirama’s heart.

Madara breathes out. “No, I wouldn’t mind.” He pauses and rethinks. “That is a bad way to put it.” His lips thin to the thinnest of smiles. “A heart is not a burden but a blessing, and two hearts doubly so.”

She beholds him then, for the first time, not as someone Hashirama has affection for, not the other half of a venture for unity, not a dreamer with his dream burned to ashes, but as a man, with his ambitions and tenderness worn down to shreds by time and loss.

“And I,” he continues, voice still soft, “will treasure this blessing with the gratitude it deserves.”

“As I will treasure you.” She rises then to brush the hair from his upturned face. “With all the gratitude that you deserve.”

* * *

In the evenings after, there are three bowls at the dinner table, four, if Tobira-kun has come to join them.

When the first snow falls, she presents a sweater each to two different men and watches them link arms almost unconsciously as they leave in the morning and smiles.

And in the spring, while the sakura blossoms are falling, she and Tobira-kun lay the foundations for Konohagakure no Sato’s first school.

* * *

“I didn't come to play it safe

I came to win or lose with you

And I win and lose with you”

— Dessa, “It’s Only Me”

**Author's Note:**

> I had such fun writing this! Many thanks to all the friends who cheered me on throughout this process. Their enthusiasm is much appreciated, and I could not have done it without them. 
> 
> <3


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